


(I'll be your) Home for the Holidays

by Melibe



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Other, ficlet that might one day metamorphose into a chaptered fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 10:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30003192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: For GoodbyeVanny, who invented this AU and plotted the whole story so beautifully I couldn't help writing the opening scene. I'm sorry I still haven't written any more of it, but I thought if I put this here it might be inspirational. Aspirational? Something.Thanks to Euny for the brilliant title. ;)
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 14





	(I'll be your) Home for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoodbyeVanny (TheFallenCaryatid)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFallenCaryatid/gifts).



> For GoodbyeVanny, who invented this AU and plotted the whole story so beautifully I couldn't help writing the opening scene. I'm sorry I still haven't written any more of it, but I thought if I put this here it might be inspirational. Aspirational? Something.
> 
> Thanks to Euny for the brilliant title. ;)

_New York City_  
_December 1st_  
_Selam Restaurant and Cafe_

The bells on the door jingled, and a frosty draft blew Beelzebub inside. Gabriel looked up from his coffee and smiled. His friend wore a stylish black peacoat with the collar popped, and a crimson scarf he’d never seen before. They dropped into the seat across from him, blowing on their hands. “Colder than a witch’s tit out there.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Never got past first base with Michael?”

Gabriel almost choked with laughter. When he met Beelzebub, he’d been repelled by their caustic sense of humor, but as their professional rivalry metamorphosed into friendship, he’d grown to savor it. After all, Beelzebub had been the one to lend a sympathetic ear all though his tumultuous affair and messy breakup with Michael. So he could take it, and even tease them back.

“A baseball metaphor! Shall I tell the Department of Homeland Security that you’re finally assimilating?”

Beelzebub cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted me deported, so you’d have a hope of being the city’s top agent again.”

“Aha! _Again_. You admit that I was.”

“Only if you admit that I am, now.”

Beelzebub had come over from London five years ago to open an American office for their literary agency. Their first act had been to shamelessly poach one of Gabriel’s authors, so he considered himself indirectly responsible for all the success they’d had since then.

But he didn’t want to talk shop tonight. “You’re looking good,” he said instead, because they were.

“Yeah, thanks. You’re looking shit, as usual.”

“You’re lying, as usual.” Gabriel smoothed the front of his new lavender turtleneck, which he knew to be one of his most flattering colors.

“ _When I speaketh a lie, I speaketh of my own_ ,” agreed Beelzebub. As a child whose parents thought it was funny to name them after the devil, they’d learned to quote scripture in self-defense.

“I got a few of these turtlenecks at Bloomingdale’s on Friday," said Gabriel. "Incredible deal.”

“Got the scarf on Friday too,” admitted Beelzebub, toying with its thick fringe.

“Beez! I thought you hated American holidays. Why didn’t you tell me you were doing Black Friday? We could have gone shopping together.”

“Black Friday is an exception. All that unbridled greed and materialism, it’s so awful it’s beautiful.” Beelzebub gave a dreamy sigh. “Did you order already?”

“Yes. Your coffee’s on the way. They’re out of beef, so I got ye doro tibs instead of ye bere.”

“Hmph. I’ll ghost you if I don’t like it.”

“You can’t ghost someone when you’re actively having lunch with them.”

“Fucking watch me.”

“You will like the chicken,” said the waitress, setting down Beelzebub’s coffee along with an extra bowl of sugar. “Your boyfriend has good taste.”

“Dammit, Zeni,” groaned Beelzebub. “We’ve told you a hundred times we’re not dating.”

“So? He is a boy. He is your friend. Sorry, is it my English? Sometimes I get words wrong.” Zeni’s eyes danced with mischief.

Gabriel laughed heartily. “Your English is better than Beez’s.”

“Sod off, you gormless manky pillock.”

“See?” Gabriel threw up his hands. “No idea what they just said.”

Zeni headed back to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “They told you to fuck off and named you three different kinds of stupid.”

“Thank you!” exclaimed Beelzebub. They pointed at Gabriel. “It’s your daft American ears that cock it up.”

“Keep up the insults, and I’m going to rescind my Christmas invitation.”

“You haven’t even offered one yet,” retorted Beelzebub. “Besides, maybe I’m not available to watch holiday tripe with you this year. Maybe I’ll be busy drinking all the whiskey myself.”

With Beelzebub’s family across the pond, and Gabriel’s family equally remote though they were just a few hours’ drive away, the two friends had fallen into a companionable habit of spending Christmas together, with abundant alcohol and appalling movies.

“I’m going back to the farm this year,” said Gabriel slowly. It had seemed like a good idea when he’d settled on it, but he was anxious for Beelzebub’s approval, or at least their acceptance. “Want to come along?”

Beelzebub’s incredulous “Why the fuck--?” was interrupted by Zeni depositing their food, mounds of savory steaming lentils and meat on a circle of beautifully spongy injera bread.

“Ye doro tibs,” she identified the chunks of chicken. “You don’t like it, you tell me, okay?”

“Why, so you can bring something else?” asked Beelzebub, ever the skeptic.

“So I can laugh at you.” Zeni winked, filled up their water, and left.

“I fucking love this place,” said Beelzebub with complete sincerity. They grabbed a roll of injera and waved it at Gabriel. “You hate your family’s farm. You haven’t visited once since I’ve known you.”

“Well, my mother’s getting up there, you know? Aziraphale had to hire help, and I started thinking, I _am_ the older brother. I ought to take on some leadership. Mother might leave the whole farm to Aziraphale if I don’t show any interest.”

“But you’re _not_ interested. What is this, some kind of midlife crisis?”

“No, it isn’t, thank you very much.” Gabriel tore off a piece of bread and used it to scoop up a mouthful of lentils. “I’ve simply been reflecting that despite all the rewards of my work, I don’t feel fulfilled. Maybe I’ve lost my soul in the city.”

Beelzebub laughed, a full-throated laugh they usually reserved for occasions when something dreadful happened to someone who deserved it. “You are. You’re having a fucking midlife crisis. All right, count me in. I have to see this. Let’s have a holiday in the arse end of nowhere, New York.”

Gabriel smiled, even more relieved than he’d expected to be. “We’ll have fun. Chop a Christmas tree. Go for a sleigh ride. Hang mistletoe.”

Beelzebub gave him an odd look, then glanced out the window. “What’s the weather like in Arse End?”

Gabriel sighed and drained his espresso. “Pack for witches’ tits.”

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who is the farmhand Aziraphale hired . . . ;) 
> 
> GoodbyeVanny's plot is seriously so lovely, there's snowball fights and farm shenanigans and resentful pining and love confessions. Maybe I will someday write the rest of it!


End file.
